Someone to Watch Over Me
by pale-jonquil
Summary: There are certain parts of himself he only shares with special, certain people, but at the end of the day he turns right back around and willingly gives all these pieces of himself to her.


De-anon from the kink meme, guys, and it's straight up porn. The prompt: _I'd love to see Belgium using a strap-on dildo to penetrate her lover, England, and they both enjoy it. Consensual only please, and other kinks, etc. are welcome as long as it isn't watersports, scat or guro. Bonuses: It's actually England's idea, and some emphasis on the trust and intimacy involved, please?_**  
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I have no experience writing this kink, so if something's wrong or unsafe, please let me know. Having said that, please enjoy!

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**Someone to Watch Over Me**

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She doesn't know how long she's spent trying to relax him, but it was long enough for the music she arranged on her iPod to run out.

_He's the big affair I cannot forget,_ Ella Fitzgerald sang as she nuzzled his belly, her breath warming his skin even as it made him shiver. _Daydream, why do you haunt me so?_ she sang along with Jo Stafford in her head as she ghosted her fingers up and down his arms, feeling the goose bumps rising to meet her reverent, wandering fingertips.

She took his face in her hands and covered his mouth with hers, kissed him as though she hadn't seen him in years. It made his heart turn violently in his chest, for it reminded him of the way she kissed him when he finally found her near the end of the war — the way he suddenly knew, as he looked into her eyes, there was no longer any reason to keep pretending she didn't mean the world to him, no longer any reason to keep from telling her he loved her, needed her, couldn't breathe without her.

And he thinks for a moment, as she kisses him, that she might forget what it is they'd planned on doing and simply lie on top of him the rest of the night, naked and kissing him senseless — had _genuinely_ thought that. He'd never complain about such an enticing alternative, after all.

But then she sneaks a finger down toward his entrance and lightly brushes against it, teases it, and the quivering, anxious anticipation returns to the pit of his stomach.

"Ready?" she breathlessly asks, breaking the kiss and sitting back on her knees, between his legs. She gently nudges them apart, and he spreads them for her without protest.

Nodding, he reaches for the bottle of lube next to the pillow and squirts some into her hand.

Gently, slowly, and hesitating just a little, she pushes her finger into him. Though it hurts, it's not nearly as bad as he'd imagined — it's more uncomfortable than anything. He can honestly say he's never felt anything quite like it in his life.

"Do you remember the first time we ever did this?" she suddenly whispers, keeping her finger still within him after she gets it as far in as it will go.

Arthur grunts and closes his eyes. "We have never done _this_ before."

"Well, no," she agrees with a low, throaty chuckle. "But tell me about our first time."

"Why should I need to tell you?" Arthur asks. After a moment, he lifts his head off the pillow and looks at her, a hint of worry in his eyes. "Surely you remember?"

Gently guiding him back down to the pillow, she stretches out beside him on the bed and rests on her elbow.

"Of course I remember, dear," she says, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "But please — will you tell me about it?"

Arthur tenses and shifts. She leans over and begins nuzzling his cheek.

"Tell me," she purrs, laying hot, open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck.

He sighs and lolls his head to the side, listening to the wet _smack_ of her lips against his skin and getting lost in it.

"Well," he begins, squeezing his eyes shut again, "I don't know why I waited so damn long to do that with you in the first place."

"I don't either," she giggles, shifting her weight and moving to lay those hot smacking kisses across his chest.

"Our first time was — it was _brilliant."_

"Tell me more," she says as she kisses her way down the rest of his body. She hovers over his half-hard cock, her breath warm and seductive, and wiggles her finger inside him a little. "Tell me every detail, dear."

His breath hides in his lungs, and he has to consciously remind himself to breathe.

"I had no idea what I was doing," he says, jerking his hips up as she gives the underside of his cock a long, slow lick, "or what I was _supposed_ to be doing, but I was so thankful, and felt so — so bleeding _lucky_ that you were letting me to do that to you."

She gives him another lick. "What else?"

"And — and you were so _beautiful,_ when I finally got your clothes off you — but then, you're always beautiful, love — "

He moans as she takes his cock completely inside her mouth.

"Oh, _shit,"_ he whispers harshly, "shit — "

As she beings slowly, deliberately fucking him with her mouth, she brings her free hand up to softly rub at his belly.

"And I loved you so, _so_ much," he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "I mean, I still do. I always have. I could never _not_ love you, darling — but I almost wanted to _cry,_ my heart was so full, and — "

He manages to lift his head and narrows his eyes at her.

"_So help me,_ Marie, if anyone _ever_ finds out about that part, I'll deny it, I swear I will — "

"Don't worry," she murmurs, releasing him only for a moment, her eyes locking with his, "no one will find out."

She takes his cock into her mouth again, and he sighs, his head dropping heavily back down to the pillow. There's a hungry, needy tension growing in the pit of his stomach as her slick tongue and soft lips swirl around his dick, and a strange, foreign weight anchoring him to the bed. He supposes, through the haze of lust in his brain, that it must be due to her finger inside him, and he's finding it not an entirely unwelcome feeling.

He releases a rattling breath when she slowly starts moving her finger in and out of him.

"And I was asking you all those ridiculous questions," he continues, bringing a hand to rest encouragingly at the back of her head, around the ponytail she's gathered her hair into, "and you were a right _saint_ for putting up with me and answering them all — not very romantic, though, was it, darling?"

She thinks back to that night, remembers the worry in his earnest eyes and the love behind the worry. His attentiveness and his tenderness toward her melted her heart, just as the memory of it melts her heart now.

"I thought it was very romantic, actually," she says, and then returns her attention to his cock.

"I wanted so desperately to please you, to not disappoint you, so that you'd let me do that with you again."

"And again and again and again," she smirks, finally letting go of his cock and kissing her way back up his body, her finger still carefully sliding in and out of him.

"Yes," he agrees, chuckling, his arms circling around her waist as she comes to rest above him. "And I never wanted to let you go, never wanted to stop touching you or kissing you."

"You haven't."

With a playful grin, she leans down and softly kisses him.

"Darling?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

She smiles against his lips, kisses him once, twice, three times.

"I know you do."

"_No one_ makes me feel the way you do," he whispers, glancing up at her. He brings his hands up to play with the short hairs at her neck, the ones that have escaped from her ponytail, and brings her forehead to rest against his.

"I love you," he breathes, his eyelashes lacing with hers, "I love you, I love you…"

She thinks of how after he first mustered up the courage to tell her he loved her, it took him six months before he was able to look her in the eye whenever he said it. And now here they finally are — _look how far we've come together,_ she wants to tell him, _do you remember how we used to imagine these days when we were young?_ — here _he_ is, boldly saying it over and over again, and meaning it every single time.

The next kiss she gives him is deep and achingly slow, almost exploratory.

"Are you alright?" she asks, nuzzling his nose with hers.

"Yes," he whispers.

"Are you ready for another finger?"

He frowns and looks away for a moment, thoughtfully assessing his situation, but brings his eyes back to hers and nods.

"Hand me the bottle," she whispers.

He does so, and she sits back on her knees again. He closes his eyes and listens as she pops the cap off, squirts some lube onto her hand, and waits as though on pins and needles for her to insert another finger — and when she finally does, he clenches his teeth and hisses, arching his back, his entire body going stiff.

As she gently pushes her finger all the way into him, she looks him over with a worried expression on her face.

"Breathe, dear," she gently commands him. "Please breathe for me."

She lightly places her free hand in the middle of his chest. His fists are clenched at his sides, but he brings one up to desperately clutch at her hand.

"In and out," she coos, squeezing back, "in and out."

He takes one deep breath after another, and even though he eventually flattens his spine against the mattress, he cannot bring himself to uncoil his taut muscles just yet.

"You're doing great," she tells him, "and I'm so proud of you."

"Is this — " He rolls his eyes before squeezing them shut and making a muffled noise. "Is this what it feels like for you?"

She considers, and wonders what _she_ looks and sounds like when he takes her this way.

"Well, I suppose. It's not the _nicest_ feeling in the world at first, but it eventually starts to feel amazing."

She stretches out beside him again, lightly brushing the tips of her fingers over his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his lips.

"And I'm so lucky," she whispers, gently tapping her finger against his bottom lip, "because whenever you do this to me, you're always so slow and patient and gentle." She grins as she presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for that."

"I'd — never wish to hurt you, or — do something that displeases you — "

"I know, dear, I know," she whispers, kissing his cheek. "You're always so good to me — the _best_ — and I love you for it."

She wiggles her fingers inside of him, and slowly starts pulling them out, pushing them back in. He squirms, and digs his fingers into the mattress.

"Will I be sore once we've finished?" he suddenly asks, opening his eyes wide, the vulnerability in them tugging at her heart.

And it's so beautiful, she thinks, to so easily have the trust of someone who's always so guarded. She can't think of anything in particular she did to earn it, other than be herself and love him to the moon and back. There are certain parts of himself he only shares with special, certain people, but at the end of the day he turns right back around and willingly gives all these pieces of himself to _her_ — sometimes, there are pieces that surprise even himself with their existence, but those end up belonging to her as well.

"Mmm…" She tilts her head to the side. "Maybe for a little bit afterwards, but you won't hurt the next day or anything. I never do, at least."

He sighs and visibly relaxes a little.

"I solemnly swear not to turn you bow-legged, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur stares at her for a moment before bursting into loud peals of laughter. She was being serious, but collapses on top of him in a heap of laughter herself.

The bed shakes with their shared laughter, but once they've calmed down and regained their breath, she notices he's the most relaxed he's been all night. As her fingers pick back up their slow pace inside of him, it gives her an idea.

"Dear?" she asks, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him.

"Yes, my love?"

"Have you heard the joke about the boulder?"

Confused, he furrows his eyebrows together.

"No, but what does that have to do with — "

"_It totally rocked."_

With a disbelieving look on his face, Arthur laughs again.

"And just where the hell did you hear that joke, madam?"

She grins. "Kaoru told it to me."

"Good Lord," Arthur sighs, smiling. "I should have known. That was awful — _truly awful._ Not even fit to be classified as a joke, I should think."

"What about this one?" She shifts and sits onto her knees between his legs, lubing up her hand again and stroking up and down his cock. "There are two muffins sitting in an oven — "

"_God,"_ he sighs, all but melting into the mattress, and she's unsure if he's heroically resigning himself to his fate of enduring another bad joke, or enjoying her touch. She knows it's the latter when his hips and thighs start quivering.

"One turns to the other and says, 'Gosh, it's really hot in here, isn't it?' And the other muffin turns to the first and says, 'Holy crap, it's a talking muffin!'"

"That one wasn't any better than the first," he says, laughing despite himself.

"You can blame Alfred for that one, sir."

"Don't worry, I will."

She stills her fingers and reaches over to kiss his forehead.

"Are you still okay?"

"Yes."

"Because we can stop anytime you — "

"No!" he quickly says, and then blushes at his own eagerness. He clears his throat and glances away.

"No," he begins again, dragging her down for a kiss, and then caressing her face. "Keep going."

"Alright," she says, kissing the tip of his thumb as it passes over her bottom lip. "Give me your finger."

He stares at her, unblinking, and swallows.

"Erm — what?"

"Give me your finger," she softly repeats, raising her eyebrows imploringly at him.

He blushes furiously, but holds his hand out to her nonetheless.

He has to sit up a little, hunch over and stretch for it to work, but she covers his finger in lube and guides it next to hers, has him insert it into himself, and he lets out a loud groan.

"Fuck, _fuck_ me," he barks, squeezing his eyes shut._ "Bloody hell — "_

"Shh, shh," she soothes, nuzzling his neck. "You're alright, dear, you're fine."

"I _know,_ I only — " He makes a muffled noise and buries his nose in her hair.

"Breathe," she reminds him, and he obediently inhales the flowery scent of her hair, makes her hair flutter as he exhales sharply through his nose.

"I've got you," she whispers. "I'm going to take care of you, dear. I promise I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"You — you always take care of me," he quietly mutters, biting his lip.

"We take care of _each other,"_ she gently corrects him.

Arthur pulls away to gaze at her face. She's always been such an anchor for him, his darling girl, such a constant reassurance. Whenever he feels lost, or wary, or unsure of himself — like now — she has a lovely way of tugging on the thread connecting him to her, reminding him _don't be silly, dear, you've got me here to watch over you._

He kisses her, and her mouth opens willingly, eagerly to his. She sighs and moans against him, _into_ him, and with a wolfish grin, he drags his lips down to her neck.

"My dear, _dear_ Arthur," she murmurs, smiling and throwing her head back, allowing him better access to suck on the skin of her neck and shoulder.

"My wonderful dear," she continues with a low, throaty chuckle. "My impossible, ridiculous, stubborn — "

"_Watch it."_

"My silly, hot-headed — "

"Oh, I'll give you hot-headed," he smirks, dragging his teeth across her shoulder.

"Sweet pea," she says, encouraging him to move his finger along with hers, "sunshine, honey bunny, sugar dumpling."

He laughs and pulls away. "Now you've gone _too_ far, madam."

"Baby cakes, angel face, baby bear, cuddle bug — "

"My God, woman!" he cries. "Who are you, and what did you do with my Marie?"

She giggles and wrinkles her nose. "I know, I'm grossing myself out. But don't you feel better?"

He shifts on the bed and grunts lightly. "Yes, actually."

He feels even better when she gives his dick a few gentle strokes.

"I think you're ready."

"Oh," he breathes, his eyelids fluttering, "am I?"

"Yes," she chuckles, gently removing first his finger and then her own.

She gently pushes him back down to lie on the bed. Grabbing an extra pillow, she slides it beneath him.

"What do you think so far?"

"I think it's — different."

"Bad different, or good different?"

"Good different." He grins. "But then, you could make me do anything you wanted and I'd probably enjoy it, so long as it was with you."

She laughs at that, because all this was actually _his_ idea.

_(You seem to enjoy that…differently, somehow, I've noticed, _he told her one night after he'd taken her this way. _What's it like? How is it different, exactly?_

_When I normally come, _she eventually said, after giving it some thought,_ it's like…like being on a long car ride, squished up in the back seat with all the luggage, not being able to move. But then when the car finally stops and you get out and stretch — that amazing feeling that washes over you? That's how they normally are. But coming like this is a little more intense, once you get past the pain at first. It's almost like the same feeling, but in a different spot, so it's familiar but not. That's what makes it exciting, I guess._

_That sounds…rather thrilling, actually, _he said after a moment, taking in what she'd said._ I want to know what that's like one day, if you're not completely adverse to the idea.)_

She reaches over and grabs the toy off the bedside table, placing it in his hands. It's not the most realistic toy she could have bought — it's smooth and curved at the end, not at all shaped like a real dick — but she knew he'd be nervous, despite any and all attempts at bravado, and they can always go buy a more realistic one if he ends up liking this enough to do it again.

"Will you put it on me?"

After a short, stunned moment, and with trembling hands, he fumbles with the straps until it's securely fastened around her. She kisses him as she slicks it up, and can already feel his body going rigid again.

"Remember," she whispers against his lips, positioning the dildo against his entrance, "I've got you."

And it's almost cruel, she thinks as she slowly pushes into him, bit by bit — despite everything they've done so far, nothing could have prepared him for _this,_ the poor dear. He hisses and clutches at the sheets, releases short, panicked moans, and she thinks, for a horrible, terrifying moment, that she's actually hurt him.

"Shh," she soothes after she's completely buried in him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, "shh, shh."

"_Marie — "_

"Put your arms around me," she says, and he immediately does so, clutching onto her for dear life, crushing her to him just as violently as he did all those years ago when he was caught in the throes of opium and couldn't tell up from down.

"Hold on to me," she tells him, just as she did during those dark days. "Don't ever let me go."

"I won't," he whimpers, "I won't."

"I'm not going to move until you're used to me inside of you, okay?"

"Alright."

She kisses the side of his head. "How do you feel?"

"It — it _burns."_

"Don't worry, it burns for me at first, too."

She dips her head and kisses at the freckles on his shoulder.

"Almost like a sunburn, actually, but you haven't had a sunburn since your pirate days, have you, dear?"

"Not since my _privateering_ days, no."

"Tell me about those days."

"_God_ — " He grits his teeth and sucks in a breath. "I miss them sometimes."

"What do you miss about them?"

"I — I miss the sea, the smell of it and the sound of it, and how calming it was — and the stars at night, how clear the sky was without all these blasted city lights we have now, and — and how we none of us knew what was out there but we just _knew_ we had to go looking — but — "

"But what, dear?"

"But — as much as I miss all that — I'm glad to be here with you, now — wouldn't trade it for anything. Because — "

He wraps his legs around her and buries his face in her neck.

"Because everywhere I went, I kept thinking, 'This is — this is nice, but I wish Marie was here with me to see it.'"

"Really?"

"Yes. Because — I've been everywhere and seen everything, darling, but — you've always been my grandest adventure — didn't you know?"

Sometimes, Antonio or Francis or Lovino or her brother will ask her what she sees in Arthur, and this is her answer, right here. If they only knew how kind and gentle he truly is beneath all the harsh layers of severity and cynicism, how deep and steady his devotion runs — if they could only see what _she_ has been allowed to see. They judge him for stumbling but do not see the pebble in his shoe; they laugh at him for limping but are unaware of the devil that dances on his back.

And she wonders, for a fierce, protective moment, why everyone else can't see what she sees. She doesn't know why he hides himself away from the world — they'd love him if he'd only allow them to.

"I love you," she says, bringing her hands up to hold his face as she kisses him.

"I love you more," he whispers when she pulls away.

He moans appreciatively and trails his hands up and down her back when she brings her lips to his neck — she knows it drives him wild to be kissed here, and sometimes, it's the only fun she's able to have at world meetings. She'll loosen his tie when he comes up to her during a break, kiss him under his collar just a few seconds shy of it becoming vulgar, and then fix his tie for him before going back to her seat across the table.

"You should turn on that contraption," he mentions, one of his hands coming to rest at the nape of her neck, the fingers of the other splaying along the small of her back.

"No. This is our first time doing this, and I want it to be all about you." She nips at his shoulder. "But if there's going to be a next time — "

"Oh, there will be," he tells her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You're not afraid of anything, are you, Mr. Kirkland?" she asks with a giggle.

He tries to smile, but it ends up more like a grimace. "I told you I'd give you hot-headed."

She manages to get more lube on her hand and reaches down to stroke his cock. He lets out a loud, rattling sigh.

"Can you relax for me, dear?" she asks, licking his chest.

"I can — I can try — "

"The burn always fades away for me," she assures him in a whisper. "It never goes away completely, but it does lessen, and I stop noticing it after a while anyway because that's when it starts to feel amazing."

She tightens her hand around his cock, and it makes him moan almost wantonly. "If it's too much and you want to stop, let me know. But don't be scared, either, dear. It'll feel good if you let it."

Her voice thick with sinful, indulgent intent, she leans down and whispers in his ear: _"Let me make you feel good."_

He's trembling, never having known a feeling like this before, and it's almost too much for him, this excruciating, tantalizing fullness. But the familiar ache is there in his cock as she fists him up and down and up and down, crashing alongside the electricity coursing through his body at the discovery of this new pleasurable spot so deep within him.

When she slowly starts thrusting into him, he thrashes his head back against the pillow and clenches his teeth, makes intelligible noises. His thoughts aren't making sense at all — _good, yes, love, shit, yes, ah, love, you, please, love, again_ — and the need, the want, the heady _yearning_ for release is overriding everything else in his brain.

"Yes," he groans, his hands traveling down to squeeze her ass, "yes, like that."

"Does it feel good?"

"Fuck, _yes,_ it feels good — it feels _so good,_ you feel brilliant, I love you, I adore you — "

And it almost feels like something's finally tearing within him then, or perhaps — no, not tearing. Perhaps something is simply falling away, giving way to something else entirely — whatever it is, he suddenly doesn't give a _shit,_ doesn't give an ever-loving _fuck,_ doesn't care about anything except this feeling, just wants her in and out of him as fast as she can go and even faster if she can manage it because _mother of goddam fuck_ this is good —

"Let me make you feel good," she whispers, and it makes him moan shamelessly, makes him dig his fingernails into her ass. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I want — _God damn it,_ I want you to _fuck me."_

"I need to hear you say it again," she purrs.

He grabs her hips and starts thrusting her in and out of him himself.

"_Fuck me,"_ he pants, slamming her against him, "God, just — harder — just _give it to me."_

He brings a hand up to cup her breast, squeeze it, rub his thumb over her nipple and harden it. He rises up and covers her other nipple with his mouth, rolls his tongue over it, sucks on it — and she's never felt sexier in her life. She loves the free and open feeling when she's on top, the idea that he can see everything about her, and she knows him well enough to know he can't ever look away for long. She loves it when he devours her with his eyes, loves to throw her head back and know she can make him hard, can make him pant and moan, can turn him into a complete mess.

She leans down to kiss him, kiss him _hard,_ messy, all tongue and no finesse. She hasn't turned on the toy and isn't going to, but she's getting off simply on his reactions, on being so close to him, the feel of her naked skin against his. She wants to stretch out like a cat and lap up all this attention he's showering on her.

"I know you're close," she murmurs into his neck, writhing against him, her hard nipples brushing against his chest, making them both shiver.

"Make me come," he deliriously pants, "yes, _yes_ — do it, _please."_

He reaches up and pulls the elastic band from her hair, carelessly tossing it away. Her hair falls around their faces like a curtain, shielding them from anything that isn't each other or this moment they've found themselves in. He tangles his fingers into it, clutches the strands and drags her mouth down to his — and as much as she thought she was in control, he's stealing the breath right out of her.

"Darling, I want to come — darling, _darling — "_

"Then come for me _now,"_ she demands, her voice firm, "don't wait — you come _long_ and _hard_ and I want to _hear_ you come."

He thrashes his head back and forth, and right before it sweeps over him, he hears her panting _come, come, come _into his ear.

He comes hard and shuddering, a mix of ragged breaths and strangled cries tumbling from his mouth. He clings to her as she rocks him back and forth, strokes every last pleasurable jolt out of him. He's muttering the most incoherent things she's ever heard him say — he sounds over the edge and deliciously satisfied. He trusts her enough to drop every shred of his pride and not make a lick of sense, and that's more than enough for her.

When he's finally finished, he flops uselessly against the bed, groaning a little when she slowly pulls out of him and drags the pillow out from under him. She unhooks the toy and sets it on her bedside table, wiping her hands with some tissues and setting about cleaning both of them up.

His chest is still rising and falling with his labored breathing as she finally crawls in next to him. She wraps one of his limp arms around her and cuddles close, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

"How do you feel, dear?" she eventually asks, once he's gotten his lungs back under control.

He sighs deeply, contentedly, closing his eyes and turning his face toward hers. "Mmm."

She kisses the tip of his nose and his eyelids. "That good, huh?"

"Mm-hmm."

She smiles happily and throws an arm over him, rubbing small circles on his shoulder with her thumb.

He sluggishly turns and gathers her closer to him, bringing a hand up to tangle his fingers in her hair and massage her scalp.

"Why are you so good to me?" he mumbles.

_Because you went to war for me, _she thinks._ Because you admire my brain and my accomplishments and aren't jealous of them. Because you know I'd live with you in your house if you asked me to, but you'd never ask, and you'd never force me to, either. Because you trust me with your real self._

"Because you're good to me," she finally answers.

They lay together for some time, peaceful and part of each other, but she nudges him when she realizes he's beginning to fall asleep.

"Hey."

"What?" he tiredly drawls.

"Come on," she says, rolling away and off the bed. "Let's get cleaned up, and then I'll let you sleep."

He groans as she grabs his hands and pulls him up, but eventually manages to drag his boneless body out of the bed.

They shuffle down the hall to her bathroom, and before they even start cleaning the stickiness from their bodies, they laugh at their wild hair in the mirror. Having an even greater dislike of germs than he does, she makes him wash his hands three times before she deems them acceptable, and scrubs her own four times.

She turns to leave, but he grabs her hand.

"Have a bath with me?" he asks.

She glances at the tub, then at him, then back to the tub.

"No," she finally decides.

"No?" he asks, pouting, looking every bit the twenty-something he appears to be — not at all the more than two thousand years he _really_ is.

She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her body flush against his, stretches out against him, skin kissing skin — and there's that indescribably _sexy_ feeling again as every soft curve and fold of her body rests against every hard, straight line of his. Distinct yet complimentary, craving in the other what they each lack.

"No," she repeats. "We'll just end up falling asleep, and then the water will get cold, and it'll be _awful_ having to get up and drag ourselves out of it. Besides, you've got a meeting tomorrow."

She kisses him, wrapping a leg around the back of his knee.

"I'll be your pillow!" she chirps. "Come to bed. It's soft and warm, and we can curl up around each other."

He yawns.

"Right as always, my love," he says, chuckling lazily.

"Can I get that in writing, sir?"

"Not on your life."

She giggles as he bends and sweeps her up into his arms, carrying her down the hallway and back into her bedroom. He lays her on the bed and slides in next to her, pulling her to him.

"You make me happy," he simply says.

"Good," she replies, kissing his chest, right over his heart. "That's what I'm here for."

Later, she realizes she must have drifted off into sleep, though it only felt as though she'd closed her eyes for a moment.

She's pulled out of slumber by soft, barely-there kisses all over her face. The kisses trail down her neck, shoulder, arm. Still half asleep, she lets herself be rolled onto her back, and the kisses flutter across her breasts and down her belly.

She moans lightly, happily, and she thinks she hears chuckling. Blearily, she opens her eyes, and the illuminated clock on the bedside table reads four in the morning.

"Arthur, no," she feebly protests as his kisses travel down to her thighs, and then he's kissing her slit, and then — _oh_ — he's parting her, and —

"Your meeting tomorrow…"

"Hang the meeting," he casually says, giving her a long lick. "You're here — naked, _now_ — and don't you think for a moment I'm going to let you go and do as you please with me without paying you back in kind."

"It's not like that, dear — I enjoyed it. You don't have to even things out."

"Hush now, love," he says, draping her legs over his shoulders. "Let _me_ take care of _you."_

_.  
_

_The End  
_

_._

* * *

I like Ella Fitzgerald's version of "Someone to Watch Over Me" because she sounds so timid and shy and _hopeful _in the song. Also, I personally prefer Duke Ellington's version of "Day Dream" without words, but I needed something for Bel to sing along with in her head. : P

Thank you for reading! 8D


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